Not a Bad Day After All
by lemonpiefirefly
Summary: Daniel finds something at Jack's he's not supposed to that could strengthen a friendship or ruin a trust. JD GEN. M for language. Spoilers for Cold Lazarus, Fire & Water, Serpent's Grasp, Serp. Lair. Thanks again to the captain for steering me harborside.


He walked to his bookshelf, unthinkingly looking over his shoulder to reassure some part of his mind that no one would see. He stretched a sinewy arm to a book, and slowly ran a finger along its spine before pulling it from the stack. "Total Hockey: The Official Encyclopedia of the NHL". Slipping a finger between the pages, he opened to a smaller, yellowed piece of paper tucked between the leaves. He carefully slid it out, leaned an elbow on the bookcase and let the heavy book hang forgotten, propped against his thigh. His eyes traced the chaotic handwriting, and read again the words on the page. Words he almost knew now by heart.

_I think I have found a family again with this man. How could I know all that time ago, going through the gate with a suicidal shell of a person, that he would come to mean this much to me? It' s been such a short time since I have returned, and so much has happened. So much that we've been through. They say that adversity forges the man. It forges also the friendships and bonds that we all have. By that measure, then, the bonds on our team should be unbreakable by now. Even so, there is something special about him. The way he looks out for me. The way he gets frustrated at me, too. _

_I know with the kind of person he is, I can never tell him this, but I hope somehow he knows. I hope he knows that I love him, that I couldn't imagine my life without him. I have been so much more than I ever could have been. My life has been so much more with him in it. The pain of losing Sha're and leaving Abydos hurts so much, but it is a loss of something I never would have experienced at all without him. I never would have known that kind of happiness. And having it briefly truly is better than never having it at all. _

_Thank you, Jack. I love you, and I hope you find in your life the peace you deserve, someday._

He stared longer than he knew, and his eyes started to water. He shook himself a little, remembered to blink, took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Darting a look behind him, still finding no-one there, his eyes lingered another moment on the crackling page.

Once again, the only response he ever came up with flitted through his mind.

'I'm sorry that I can't say it, Daniel, but I love you, too.'

He was suddenly aware that his hand was beginning to cramp from the considerable weight of the book precariously dangling there. He picked it up and carefully slid the page in for safe-keeping. Right by The Golden Jet. Good old Bobby. It was about the safest place he knew in his house, because there was not friend-one in his life right now who would ever pick up that book. The astronomy books, the leadership books, hell, Teal'c even went to his Far Side collection and his Western novels. They were all in danger. But the hockey books were safe, especially this monstrosity. He carefully slid it back in the gap on the shelf and walked off. He felt a little lighter than when he started, moreso than by just the weight of the book.

x.x.x.x

Another mission gone wrong. Another harrowing sprint to the gate. The adrenaline rush of beating the odds once again was fading, and the two lounged at horizontal, flung across a couch and a recliner at the poles of the room. He was shaken this time. Too shaken to be alone tonight, or alone with his thoughts, though he'd never admit it.

When the question had been asked, though, he hadn't played it as cool as he'd have liked. "Hey, Daniel, the Blackhawks are playing tonight. When we're outta the briefing, you wanna...?"

He practically leapt at the invitation. "Hey, yeah, sure. I'd love to come over. Um, what are the Blackhawks, again?"

Jack suppressed a groan. The kid really was amazing. Brain like that and not full of anything important. Trying to be nice, he physically repressed the sigh that was coming. He replied with only the barest tinge of annoyance, "The Chicago Blackhawks. The TEAM, Danny. Hockey? Ring any bells? Do I need to take you back to Janet?"

"No, uh, sorry Jack. Yeah. Love to." Ugh. Hockey. He really was desperate tonight.

As it happened, Teal'c had to get a few cuts stitched and Janet was making him stay on the base overnight while he started his antibiotics. She still wasn't a full believer in the symbiote's healing powers and as a couple of the cuts were pretty dirty and inflamed, she wasn't taking any chances. Sam found a couple spare parts to some device they already had but couldn't get fully operational, so she was de-stressing the best way she knew, immersing herself in more work. Hammond would make sure she gave it up when he went home. He was good about that.

So it was just the two of them, and a glowing box. There he lay, sprawled on the recliner, with alcohol zinging through his system. He hadn't wanted to be alone. He hadn't wanted to think. For this, he had sacrificed himself to the likes of hockey and beer. What a man could do when he was desperate. The added bonus, if he was truthful about his motives, was that he was drunk and so was Jack and so there was no choice but to stay there overnight. They had the next day off, anyway, so no harm, no foul. He was a private man and used to living on his own, but he was not a loner at heart. He just couldn't face his apartment tonight.

Daniel started as Jack let out another half-hearted and drunken wail of protest at the TV, brandishing his mostly-empty bottle. "You are throwing it away, d'you hear me? This could be the YEAR! Come on! You gotta get in there and get the shot! Man, what I wouldn't DO for Bobby Hull right now! You sons-of-bitches let him go, too! You make ANY good decisions this century? COME ON!" Yeah. His team wasn't doing well. Daniel suspected Jack would be grousing at something even if they were, though. This mission was very nearly IT for them all. As the leader and field guru, Jack always took bad days especially hard. He absolutely lived the role of Captain of the ship. "No one's fault but my own."

Jack blearily swung his gaze to Daniel, bereft of energy and seemingly floating in the chair across the room. The commercial break hit and he saw Daniel's eyes meet his. He felt uncomfortable about his little outburst suddenly, realizing again he wasn't watching the game alone. Nice, that; not being alone. He knew the kid didn't get sports, but he also knew how it stung to be alone sometimes. The kid was a sorry sight- exhausted, big bruise under one eye, and drunk. He knew Daniel was a grown man, but it seemed so incongruous to see him drunk, the couple times he had, he felt like he'd just contributed to the delinquency of a minor. Like he'd dragged Daniel down to his level.

Daniel broke the silence. "So, who's that?"

"Who's who, Dan'l?"

"That Bobby guy. The one you always talk about. I mean, hockey player, right? But what did he do? Why do you bring him up?"

"That 'Bobby guy'? Did I just HEAR that? THAT 'Bobby guy', Daniel, is only the GREATEST hockey player EVER. EVER."

"I thought that was Gretzky."

"While I am impressed you know at least one thing about hockey, Daniel, no. It wasn't Gretzky. It was Hull. BOBBY Hull. He played for the Blackhawks when I was a kid, and I got to see him play a few times. After we moved, I got to see the North Stars some too, but I always loved going to visit the family in Chicago, 'cause I might get to a hockey game and see Bobby. Even shook my hand once after a game! Bobby Hull. He was the greatest player ever. The puck even drifted near him, he'd find a way to score. I was there that night he broke the season goal record in '66. Fifty-one goals, Danny. The stands went crazy! He made it to fifty-four before it was done that year. Man, he was great. Greatest slapshot ever..." with this last, he drifted off, lost in his thoughts. Daniel looked on as his friend disappeared down the avenue of some long-ago memory. He saw the weathered lines on the face of the older man begin to soften, the quirk of a smile tugging at his lips. Jack closed his eyes and clearly was going to lose the battle to sleep before long.

The game continued on in the background, the light flickering and jumping around the room in stark contrast to its sedate occupants. Daniel lay there, watching the light play on his friend's face, that smile still there. He simply watched him sleep for awhile, unable to move but unable to surrender himself to sleep just yet. The game ended, 5-2, San Jose. He stretched and got up to snap off the television set. Jack didn't stir as the box went quiet. He was already snoring softly, scrunched up on the couch. Daniel reeled a little, then caught himself and realized the beer was making itself known in other ways, too, and walked off to the restroom.

He didn't want to wake Jack, because he suspected it was a near thing he got to sleep in the first place. Seems like it usually was. Stopping by what turned out to indeed be the linen closet, he found an appropriate blanket and went to go cover the sleeping form on the couch. He realized he was exhausted, but not sleepy. Still too much going on in his head. He went to the kitchen to heat some water and make himself some tea. Maybe he'd top it off with a little of that Irish whiskey Jack was always on about and finally shut that brain up enough to fall asleep. He set the kettle on the stove. He started thinking about Jack's love of hockey. He still didn't get it, but maybe it wouldn't kill him to try to understand a little bit more about the game, since it meant that much to Jack. There was a picture of Jack in his younger days, wearing a hockey uniform, sweaty and smiling the kind of smile Daniel had only seen a couple times from his friend, over there on the bookshelf.

He unsteadily headed over to get a closer look. Sitting next to the picture was a book, "Total Hockey: The Official Encyclopedia of the NHL". Well, if he was serious, no time like the present to try and do a little research. He slid the tome from its place on the shelf and shuffled over to sit at the kitchen table while he waited for his water to boil. He started leafing through. This was a HUGE volume. Who knew there would be so much to know? Flipping to the index, he looked up and down the page. Page after page of names and terms, all so unfamiliar. 'Well, this is doable. It's just another language, right?' So, with a thought, he slid to the H entries. He should start with that guy that Jack liked so much. What was it? Huld? Hole? NO, there it was. Hull, Bobby. There were a few Hulls, but that one was it. He wasn't that far gone. He began flipping the pages to the entry. There!

As he slid open the pages, he stopped cold. There was a smaller piece of paper, a little yellowed to give it character. It had come that way. He knew it well. A nice Italian piece of paper. From a nice bound volume. Covered with a handwriting with which he was intimately familiar. HIS handwriting. He reached out a shaking hand and touched the writing there, as if to reassure himself it was real. He read down the page, slowly, recalling as he did the night he wrote it. It was shortly after the business with the blue crystal, when Jack had to relive the death of his son. He ran his fingertips along the words. "Thank you, Jack. I love you...". He really did. He meant every last syllable. He still did.

Suddenly, reality set in again and he started to feel defensive and angry. THIS is how he was going to be repaid, then? What the HELL was a piece of his private journal doing here? So he KNEW? He'd READ it? How did he even get a hold of this? Who else knew? Was this some sick joke? What the fuck?! Was this what all the damn Marines were snickering about? 'Pansy Jackson'? He figured it was just his hair and his bookish, pacifist tendencies. Maybe they'd known about this! Can't one emotion be fucking sacred?

He realized he was panting and shaking and very, very angry all-of-a-sudden. He had half a mind to go grab that beer-swilling hockey nut up by the collar and demand an explanation for this! Then, as quickly as the wave of emotion hit him, he felt it pass by. He felt his heart start to slow back down, and he took a deep breath to get a hold of himself. His drunk brain finally re-engaged and he thought about it for a minute. 'Hockey nut'. That's right. He was only even looking in this book to read about Jack's favorite player and one of his best childhood memories. So what did it mean, then, that this was carefully tucked next to one of his heroes?

He looked at the edge, very precisely cut down the one side to free it from the book it had been in. When would he even have come across this? He remembered, now, Sam talking about the time they thought he had been immolated back on Nem's planet. That they went to his house to pack his things and she found his journals. Maybe then? He couldn't imagine Jack taking this if he'd thought Daniel was coming back. So either then, or maybe it just meant that much to him? There was no way. Rough-and-tumble, man's-man Jack, giving a crap what he thought about him? He'd have to think about this when his head wasn't so muzzy with alcohol. There had to be any easy explanation for this. But it was beginning to seem like the easiest explanation of all might be the one that was true, and the implications for their friendship were as startling to him as they were comfortable. That Daniel's opinion really meant something to Jack. That Daniel himself really meant something to Jack.

The kettle started a mournful whistle just then, and it startled Daniel into action. He dropped the paper as he jumped up to take the kettle off the burner so it wouldn't wake his friend. He was sure this was something Jack wouldn't want to talk about. He moved the kettle over to silence it and turned the burner off, then he slid over to pick up the paper and hastily shoved it in the book. It slid shut with a "thunk" as big books do and he cringed at the sound.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Standing in a sea of people who had all surged to their feet, the lanky teen felt so much pride. The deafening roar hurt his ears so much he was moved to tears. Yeah, that was the reason. His ears hurt. Fifty-one! Fifty-one goals in a season! Hull broke the record and he was here to see it! Man, this had to be the greatest day ever! Suddenly, the roar of the crowd turned into a high-pitched whine that pulled at his consciousness with urgency. His eyes popped open, but with long years of practice he didn't move a muscle till he could determine the source of the threat. As suddenly as he'd become aware of the noise, it was gone. He glanced behind himself slowly and saw a big black gap on the bookshelf. His hockey book? The big, huge hockey book. Not where it went on the shelf. He was sure he put it up last time. He heard a quiet "whump" from the kitchen, and remembered Daniel had come over to watch the game. Oh, so Daniel was poking around for a little night time reading. Nothing new there. He started to let out a breath and then it caught in his throat again. Right. The hockey book! What's the ONE THING Daniel CAN'T find in this house? He felt like he was literally in front of a firing squad. What was he going to do? What was Daniel going to do to HIM?

He heard a rustling and quickly schooled his demeanour to seem still-asleep. He could see the light from the kitchen reflected in the glass of a picture frame across the way and kept one eye stealthily cracked open. He saw a shaggy head peek around the corner and then disappear. 'Great. He saw it then. Why else would he care if I was awake?' Then the figure reappeared and somewhat comically crept across to the bookshelf and slid the book back where it belonged. He walked by the couch and Jack slammed his one eye shut and concentrated on his breathing so Daniel wouldn't notice he was awake. He could NOT deal with this. It was too awkward. Maybe he hadn't seen it after all? Maybe he was just making sure he wasn't being too noisy? He wasn't grabbing him up and yelling at him for stealing a piece of his journal, which is what you'd think he'd be doing.

He hadn't meant to take it. He'd gone by the apartment before the others, some time after the wake, to go through Daniel's things. He wanted to take a moment to deal with it all privately. Losing the younger man had hit him especially hard. He'd lost boys under his command before and it never was an easy thing, but this was different. This was yet another innocent he was sworn to protect that he couldn't. Someone who shouldn't even be out there. But this was also someone who, despite all his seeming frailties, had the courage to survive so much in his young life and who gave this weathered hard-ass a reason to step back from the edge. In a very real sense, he owed Daniel his life. He wanted a chance to handle this before the others on his team were around. He had been so -disturbed- this time around. He couldn't trust his emotions. Hell, he couldn't even accept Daniel was gone.

So when he'd happened on the journals in the apartment, he took a little time to flip through, and what he saw there astounded him. He had a new measure not only of the incredible intelligence, but also the gentle and lonely soul. He skipped along and had come to that one special page. It only had writing on the one side, and it didn't really deal with mission data and translation notes like the others did. It just had those two blocks of text, in that kind of chaotic script of his, but he became transfixed. His vision blurred and his eyes burned, but he didn't want to close them for fear the writing wasn't really there. He gave the kid such a hard time, and yet there it was. He loved him. He looked up to him. And now he was gone.

He was glad he had come by alone. He knew what he had to do. This was something he was not going to let die with Daniel. He wasn't going to let some Air Force team pour over this, and he wasn't going to let it mildew in some box, either. He slid his Swiss army knife from his pocket and snapped open the blade. Very carefully, very precisely he traced along the inner crease of the page to free it, and then replaced the journal back on the shelf. He sat down on the couch and read it over and over. And then he wept.

When Carter found the journals later as they were packing, he had the irrational thought that she'd find a page was missing, and he wanted her to put them up. Then they realized something was wrong, and they found out he was still alive. And what had he done to show Daniel how he felt since?

The memory flashed through his mind with blinding speed, as thoughts do, and he had to resist a reaction as he suddenly felt hands tugging up the blanket higher around his shoulders and heard a quiet "Night, Jack".

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Daniel slowly replaced the book on the shelf, and ran his hand down the spine, pausing as he finished to give it one more little pat. Looking over at the bundled man, he sighed. 'Still asleep. No reason he has to know I saw that. Like he'd ever expect me to look in a hockey book.' He crossed over to the couch to tug the blanket up a little higher and wish his friend a quiet good-night. He padded softly back into the kitchen and got some tea steeping, and splashed a generous dollop of whiskey in the glass. After tonight, he would need that extra kick to shut up his brain if he was ever going to get any sleep, though the reasons were completely different than a few short minutes ago. He grabbed his mug and dumped in some honey he found in the cabinet, and hit the lights as he headed off to bed in the guest room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'So, not going to strangle me?'

Jack wouldn't get back to sleep that night, but it was okay. He'd had some thinking to do for awhile, now. Seems it was time.

x.x.x.x

A month or so later, Jack reflected that days had marched on doubletime, as they tend to do. Jack stood in the gateroom, hearing accolades and having it all wash over him and impact on mostly deaf ears. Here he was again. He'd done it again. Was he so emotionally stunted that he would forever miss the chance to tell the people he loved that he did? Would he forevermore continue to draw on tomorrows until there were none left? Another mission gone so horribly wrong. Sure, he'd made the right call in disobeying orders. They had done nothing short of save the entire planet.

But once again, he'd had to watch a friend die. And this time, there was no mistake. There would be no next time to tell that crazy-haired son-of-a-bitch what he meant to him. How proud he was of him. When he heard those guns going, and then Daniel yelling for him, his heart dropped through the floor. How could he leave him behind? Now there wouldn't even be a proper burial. A hero's burial. He was happy the rest of his team made it out, against all odds. But why this way?

He suddenly became aware of General Hammond addressing him. He was confused. He thought 'Someone who wants to see me? If it's another dignitary, they can stuff...oh my God.' His eyes lit on a figure pushing through the crowd. 'Surely this isn't real. Surely my eyes are playing tricks on me.' He heard Carter then, "Daniel!" It broke the spell. He wasn't going to let this chance slip by again. Not for anything. Not for anything in the world.

He felt himself start to grin like a fool and latched onto Daniel like the drowning man he had just been. He wanted to feel the substance of him, he couldn't help but muss the crazy hair he'd just been wishing for. He babbled something affectionate, god knows what, and felt his heart swell. This, then, was victory indeed. He finally meant all those times he'd said it wasn't that bad a day, after all.

He stepped back and for a moment thought he'd better do it now. He'd better say it now. But it just didn't come. Despite all the reasons and all the times he had thought he needed to say something and regretted bitterly that he hadn't, the words still stuck in his throat. 'O'Neill, you are one piece of work. You CAN'T blow this!' All he could do was stand there and smile; already, others gathered to welcome Daniel home. But then, the next moment, his eyes locked again with Daniel's, and he sent every bit of emotion he had into that look. Daniel looked a bit quizzical for just a fraction of a second, and then quirked his smile a little higher. 'Yeah,' Jack thought, 'he's one bright guy.'

The congratulations settled down, the briefings wound to a close, and once again they found themselves floating in an adrenaline let-down. Teal'c was going to talk to Bra'tac a little while longer before he headed to Chulak. Sam was already involved in her report so she could get it down "while it was fresh". Hiding in her work again. True testament to the idea that everyone deals with stress differently. Jack frankly couldn't wait to get out of this place tonight, though being left with his thoughts was a bit of a daunting prospect.

He was in the locker room, pulling on his non-regs when Daniel walked in to change. He walked over to his locker and opened the door. He started pulling off his gear and sliding into his street clothes. That old discomfort settled in over Jack once again. 'Hard habit to break', he thought. He was done here, no need to stick around. It was getting awkward. He gathered his stuff to go.

"Nice job, there, Daniel. Next time you go to an alternate reality and learn how to save Earth and I call it crap, you just tell me to stuff it, okay?"

"No problem, Jack" the younger man said to his locker.

"Well, um, you have a good night, then Daniel. Glad you made it back in one piece."

"Mmm-hmm."

This wasn't the talkative Daniel he'd expected. Jack paused and looked over at the locker door Daniel was behind.

"Um, Jack? What were you planing on doing tonight?" came the voice around the door.

"I don't know, Daniel. Probably see if something's on the tube then hit the bed."

There was another odd stretch of quiet. Jack filled it, "Why, you have something in mind?"

"Well, you know, I'm trying to learn...um, there any hockey games on tonight?"

Jack took a step toward the door and froze. 'Yep. He's a bright guy, alright.' Turning on his heel, he took a few steps toward Daniel and caught a glimpse of anticipation on his features that was quickly schooled back to a semblance of nonchalance. Out loud, he said, with a bit of a lilt, "Well, now that you ask, Danny, me boy-o, I think I may be able to rustle something up. You wanna come ov..."

Daniel cut him off and transfixed him with those intense blue eyes of his. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds like a plan, Jack. Meet you up top?" A small grin pulled at the corner of Jack's mouth and all-at-once, he didn't feel as broken anymore. The awkwardness was gone. It was as it should be, and Daniel knew without him having to say a word. It was okay, then. Okay between them after all.

"Sure Danny. See you there." Jack started walking out of the locker room, and turned as he opened the door to go. He saw Daniel in profile, bent down tying his shoes. He could see a huge smile on his face from under the shadows. He walked out and quietly closed the door. His smile broadened to a grin as he headed down the hallway.

'Nope, not such a bad day after all.'


End file.
